


Power Weak King

by brodylover



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human, Hurt/Comfort, Nonverbal Communication, Powerlessness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8341606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: After lifetimes of being The Outsider, the God becomes no more than a man, lost and confused in the harsh city of Dunwall.After months of being given gifts, pampered to the point of superhuman, Corvo is left a shell of a hero.He had one job, to catch the man, Anton Sokolov, and bring him to the Hound Pits. Now he's going to have to bring another passenger, and figure out what has taken The Outsider's strength.





	1. Void is Lacking

There was something wrong with The Void. There was something crackling between the floating lamps, the light wasn’t quite right. The darkness in the depths was impatient, swirling to gain his attention. Even Terrian, the whale, named after the first of his marked, noticed it, louder than normal, swooning in his constant floating cycle.

 

The Outsider made his way down and down, past Terrian, past the mindless floating debris, down into the deepest part of The Void, the deepest part of himself. The shrine shone like a beacon, instead of like a black hole, pulling energy inside of it, the small notes of worship from the flock. The purple lights, cloudy and calm, was dissipated, replaced instead by a bright flickering red.

 

The Outsider wasn’t one to panic, for emotion to show any hint amongst his stone-like features. This led him into a frenzy, skin itching, and nails digging. This was wrong. He had to stop this. He made his way down to the shrine, landing as best he could on the stones beneath it. The fabric resting on top of the table was soaked red and leaking down into the void, blood like ink on water.

 

He reached for it, to lend it power, to stop it from falling further into this strange ruin. The moment his finger touched the fabric though, his hand was stained red. His skin caught a blaze, heat traveling up his nerves. When was the last time he had been warm? He was certain he never had been. His bones ached with the sensation, the blaze cooling as he grew more accustomed.

 

And then The Void fell. No, that was wrong, he was the one falling. Terrian, the rest, all stayed still, growing smaller by the second. He thought to scream, allow the sound to reverberate in his place of power until the shrine broke and returned to itself, rebirthing itself to correctness. When he opened his mouth though, he felt the words, the sound, get caught in his throat. It was a physical thing, a living thing. He was never supposed to use the muscles he’d built for himself, they were just there to make the flock more comfortable. But now it was all real.

 

The world he fell into was as dark as his eyes and he felt neither there and everywhere. He could no longer tell if he was falling or floating. Time was gone, if it had ever been there before. Now there was nothing.

 

When light returned, every inch of him hurt. The Void was gone, replaced with a strange blueness with white floating through it, moving slowly, on a breeze that he could not feel. There was something prickling him, from all around, long green blades, coming from the solid earth. He was in a yard, he knew from watching through Corvo, through Daud, through Granny Rags, and all those who came before. There was a building towering over him, not a factory but something close. It was on the waterfront, he could hear the river. He could see a platform up above as well, saw the guards walking along it in their patrols.

 

He closed his eyes, willed himself elsewhere, willed himself back to The Void. Nothing happened. He didn’t feel a flicker of the power he’d once held.

 

His throat, the muscles inside of it, clenched. His eyes were burning, like they were full of salt. There was something in his nose and his cheeks were heating. When he tried to breathe, a terrible sound, not unlike a croak, came from him, and the pain in his eyes doubled. Liquid poured from them, soaking his cheeks and dripping down into his ears, tickling him. He couldn’t breathe without making more of those sounds and he’d never had to breathe before.

 

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to return to the void.

 

 

He stepped out of the boat, Samuel saying some kind words of encouragement. He was a good man, deserved better than to be Corvo’s chaperone. He should have been paying attention, Samuel knew more than the others supposed.

 

He couldn’t focus though. He was there in the city to go fetch Sokolov, find out what he knew. He wasn’t used to bringing people back alive. He wasn’t used to bringing anyone back at all.

 

He felt strange, sluggish, heavy. He wondered if he was getting old, or if it was the nightmares -visions- of The Void, keeping good sleep at an arms pace. He would have to rely on the given powers more than normal, to make up for the buckling of his knees and the crick in his neck.

 

He lifted his hand, unsure if he should blink while Samuel could see him. As much as he’d tried not to let him see, he was sure that Samuel already knew.

 

He balked at the sight of his hand though. There was no black mark on the back of it, nothing more than a scarred imposter of the power he’d been lent. As quickly as The Outsider had given it, he’d taken it away again, without explanation.

 

He was fragile, frail, human once more. He wanted to turn, to run back to the boat, to have Samuel take him home. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have done any of the things he had without the powers he’d been given. He could feel his heartbeat, not the one in his pocket but the one in his chest pounding. His throat was closing up.

 

He’d been alone since Jessamine died, since Emily was take. Those at the Hounds Pit had helped, made him less lonely, but it was the feeling of an omnipotent protector and voyeur that had kept him from going mad from loneliness. Now he’d been abandoned, and he almost collapsed with the empty feeling unfurling inside of him.


	2. The River Beckons

Out. He had to get out. There were guards, men in thick gloves and thicker hides, all around him. He wasn’t supposed to be out in the street. The only people he ever saw through Corvo were the guards and the weepers, a curfew that lasted throughout the day. They would catch him and they would kill him. They never had any patience for the others he’d seen. 

He stood up. His body was heavy. His legs were weak and thin and his knees wobbly. He hid his slenderness well under the thickness of his jacket and the broad frame of his shoulders, but he was small and pale, like a sick thing. He towered over Daud, but only thanks to his own power. Now there was none. 

He hobbled out of the yard, over to the gate and used it to hold himself upright, to stumble his way forward and out into the street. There were guards walking away from him on one side, towards him on the other. If he was quick enough he could rush past them, duck into an alley across the way. He knew that he would not be quick enough. 

He moved back, let the gate obscure him from view, made himself as small as possible. Perhaps they would not see him, as they spoke of their plans after their shifts, meeting up for whiskey and cigars. Perhaps they would just keep going. 

They drew closer and his lungs were tight and strange feeling. He was holding his breath. He wasn’t sure if it would help him hide or not, but it seemed to be a natural response. They drew closer and then passed and he exhaled the stale air from himself. They hadn’t noticed him at all. Perhaps hiding wasn’t as difficult as it seemed. 

He took his chance, darting out from the gate and towards an alley across the way. 

“Hey, you there!” one of the guards shouted. He hadn’t looked, had only run. The guards that had been turned away had come back, had easily seen him. He should have done what Corvo did, wait until the right moment, or what Daud did, memorize their patterns. Instead he’d run our like an idiot, and had been caught in the same way. 

He only hesitated a moment, looking at the guards, before he raced off, as fast as he could, somehow faster than before. His legs felt wobbly but they were going so fast that if he attempted to stop or turn he was certain that he would fall. He could hear the guards, cursing, scrambling for their guns, and kept moving. They all looked so slow through Corvo’s eyes. 

He dashed and darted, ignoring the dead, especially those that were still moving, as he raced. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know the alleys. He didn’t know much of anything. 

He skidded, momentum forcing him forward. He’d made it to the river. There was no boat, not close-by, and the Outsider doubted that Samuel would help him even if he were there. He knew Samuel, knew about his aches, both physical and mental, how the navy had lost a valuable man. He was as pure of heart as could be possible in a place like this. 

He looked one way and then the other, but didn’t see any direction that would help. The houses were so close to the water, there was no way that he could squeeze past. 

A jolting pain, stronger than the rest, agony bursting like an explosive bolt made fire in him, his nerves alighting and mind blanking. The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears so very loudly. He looked down, his black jacket even darker as the blood seeped through it, poured down his front. 

He fell to his knees, brain churning but not coming up with anything. He couldn’t think. All he could do was feel that crackling pain, seeping in and numbing all of him. 

He wondered if this was death and then, where he would go after he died. There was no God in the Void, no ferryman that he knew of. He slumped forward and, before, the guards had even reached him, he’d fallen off and into the river. 

Griff. He had to get to Griff. Corvo didn’t even know if he would survive the journey. Even though he knew the route, had rushed there so many times, there were more Weepers out by the day and therefore more guards and he didn’t know how well he’d even be able to sneak over there without alerting someone. He couldn’t afford a single one. 

The shadows were good, but not good enough for the Whalers to not spot him in and there was no way that he could get there from the rooftops. He didn’t even trust himself to jump across from one to the next. 

His face was known. His mask was also known. Even his clothing was known. Even if he was spotted by a guard and they decided to talk instead of kill on sight, they’d know him and that could lead to even worse, capture and torture once more. He had to go though. 

He slunked, he slinked, it was the best he could do. He didn’t even bother to run and he dodged in the ditches. He could hear the guards. They seemed to be cheering for something, one of them having shot down some random civilian who was out from the quarantine. The poor fool sounded young and naïve from what they were saying but had lead them on a decent enough chase. It meant that they were distracted at the very least. 

It took an hour before Corvo got to the first solitary guard and it took minutes for him to figure out the man’s patrol. It wasn’t too difficult, would have been so easy to just blink up behind him and slit his throat, but now, he had to crouch and skulk like a common thief to get up to him. No blade, as easy as that would be, but an arm around the man’s throat as he backed away into the shadows. He struggled, they always struggled, before going slack. 

Corvo stripped him quickly and pulled his uniform on, finding himself swimming in it. It was the best he had and he pulled his hair back, tying it up. It wasn’t much of a disguise but no one had seen his face in months and it was the best he could do. He only hoped that it would work. 

He walked more openly after that though. It was wrong for a guard to hide in the shadows. He walked quickly though, head down, and none of the other guards that he passed, rare as they were in this area of town, they didn’t pay him much attention. There were some of slackjaws boys, but he held himself larger, tried to fill the boots that he was in, and fingered the pistol on his hip. He’d never seen them look so cowed. Perhaps thins weren’t as bad for the guards as it seemed. 

It took another hour for him to get to Griff’s and he had gotten lost a few times on the way there. As well as he knew the way, the different angle had him confused. He tried not to let any of that show. 

Griff’s door was locked. He sweated, hands in fists at his sides. Griff’s door was never locked, not unless he was in danger. Corvo couldn’t do anything about that in his current state. He couldn’t stand out there either, not for long. Staying still, the guards would recognize him more easily, and they would wonder why he was just standing there. 

He knocked. He wanted to shove his way in. He didn’t know if he was even strong enough. It had been so long since he’d last done something without the Outsiders influence that he didn’t know how strong he was. He didn’t know how capable he was of anything anymore. He would never have guessed that so much power would have made him so much weaker. 

There was no response. He leaned forward, looking through the keyhole. He could see shapes moving. One of them was hopefully Griff but it was so dark in there he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see who the other one was but they weren’t moving, so possibly a body that Griff had found and dragged in to loot. Made sense why he wouldn’t answer the door. No one in their right mind would. 

He knocked again. There were some guards walking down the road. They would see him any second. He huffed and stared the door down, trying to look official. He glanced over at the guards, gave them a nod, and they looked at him curiously, trying to figure out what he was doing. Then he was back at the door, knocking harder. 

“A minute!” came a voice from inside and Corvo started to relax, minutely, “Just give me a minute.”

He could hear Griff dragging the body out of the room, gentle but not gentle enough. He couldn’t hear much more than that. 

Then the door opened, just a crack, and Griff stiffened. It was the uniform, certainly, but Corvo used it to his advantage, letting Griff stay in the dark for a moment more as he shoved the door open further, pushing his way in, and slammed it closed behind him.


End file.
